


Taken by Storm

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Passion, Rain Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is a mage with a strong affinity to lightning. In fact, she goes a little wild, a little out of control whenever a storm hits. She's terrified of Fenris learning of her loss of control during those times; so asks Anders to help train her.<br/>But what she doesn't know is that a certain white-haired elf loves storms as well.<br/>Sparks fly. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taken by Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HorrorZombabe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HorrorZombabe).



**A present fic for HorrorZombabe, who was the 600 th reviewer to Don’t Bet on it, a loooong time ago, before FF net decided to delete my work.**

**This is what she'd asked:**

**_Something Hawke/Fenris of course. Maybe stormy sexy times? With a very electric mage Hawke. Idk I've been mulling the idea that Hawke might get a little sparky during storms, tries to get Fen to go. Besties with Anders. She’s pretty headstrong on her own, but a bit awkward around Fenris because she doesn’t want to upset him. The relationship with Fen is a rocky one (when isn’t it?) and her lightning is out of control during storms. She doesn't want to ruin the relationship building with Fenris, so tries to ditch him, but he’s a stubborn elf. She accidently zaps him, which fuels the fire.  I'd like for them both to be a glowing mess by the end_ **

**Honey, this was one of the best prompts I have ever received**

**(I wanted to do a zombie fic the minute I saw her name, but...le sigh. Maybe next time.)**

 

Fenris cursed and glanced at Hawke, sitting on the floor next to him, then at the page in front of him, trying to sound the word out.

“In the face of ad...adve...rs...”

“Adversity,” she smoothly provided.

“In the face of adversity,” he scowled, “she neither cowed...”

“It’s pronounced ‘ka-w-d’ with an ‘a’.”

He lifted his head. “That is absurd. Why is it written with an ‘o’ if it supposed to be pronounced with an ‘a’?”

She shrugged and sent one of her sly half smiles his way. “It is just the way it is, Fenris. O is pronounced ‘a’ in front of ‘w’ and ‘a’ is pronounced ‘o’. Usually.”

He pondered that for a moment, his dark eyebrows furrowing over his eyes.

“Common is beyond idiotic.”

She smiled, then rolled her eyes and pointed at his book with the tip of her foot, dainty toes clad in silk slippers. “Go on, you big whiny baby,” she fondly said. “Read on.”

He turned to the book with a small huff of annoyance. She’d already drunk two glasses of wine, and it showed in her relaxed, carefree attitude. She was usually much more guarded and awkward around him, especially since _that_ night.

He winced inwardly. _Do not go there, you fool,_ he admonished himself, sneaking a look at her under his long lashes. _What is done is done. Let it rest._

The words blurred for a moment in front of his eyes, as his mind, headless of his own command, revisited that night; the feel of her skin, the pleasure of her hesitant kisses, the sweetness of her surrender. The incredible bliss of their joining and the anguish that had followed at its heels, as his memories had returned only to be wiped clean again.

He had hurt her that night, fleeing her side like a coward, retreating behind his carefully erected walls to hide and lick his wounds; he knew he had hurt her. Her eyes had been bloodshot the next day, her face blotchy.

She hadn’t exactly been a friend before that night, but after it...she had walked on eggshells around him, cautious not to provoke him, careful not to touch him, biting her usually impertinent tongue not to flirt with him as was her custom.

And she and Anders had become each other’s shadow.

Trying desperately to keep his mind from wandering to those accursed memories that made him ache –both in his heart and in other, more awkward places- he focused on the book again and continued reading.

His gravely, hoarse voice filled the room; he kept reading, not even noticing she had fallen silent until he came across a difficult word and she didn’t offer her assistance.

He looked around him; she was leaning against a chair and her eyes were closed, her chest rising rhythmically. With a tender smile on his face, he realised the sound of his voice had lulled her to sleep and he took a look out of the window to judge how much time had passed.

Dark skies met his eyes, steely gray clouds heavy with rain; it would start raining soon.

“Hawke,” he whispered softly, reluctant to wake her.

She opened her eyes, stretched lithely like a cat, and then her eyes fell to the window as well. “Ummm...” she bit her lip. “You need to go- it’s going to rain.”

Fenris brow creased. “Are you dismissing me?”

She bit her lip again, visibly anxious, her eyes still focused on the dark, gloomy rain clouds rolling outside her window. “No,” she quickly assured him, smiling tersely. “But it’s going to rain hard and I don’t want you walking home in the downpour.”

Fenris scoffed, dismissing her excuse. “I am not made of sugar, Hawke. I won’t melt. I’d rather finish this chapter if you don’t mind.”

She smiled at that. The idea of Fenris being described as made of sugar was...odd, but damn him if he wasn’t sweet as caramel, and if he didn’t give her a sugar rush whenever he was near. She knew anyone else would scoff at that, but she had caught glimpses of hidden sides of his character. Fenris was capable of great anger, bitterness, prejudice, violence; but there was a wealth of more tender emotions hidden in there as well, concealed carefully behind his stoic facade: his fierce protectiveness, his passion, the small moments of heartbreaking tenderness.

Then thunder rolled in the distance, and she stiffened up. Maker, it was going to storm. She couldn’t be around him when that happened. She had to find some way to make him go, before the rage of the storm was upon them, because then...she would lose control.

She realised he was watching her, his eyebrows scrounged together as he scrutinized her. Hawke drew a deep breath and tried to relax her stiff muscles. She offered him a smile, in a desperate attempt to hide how tense she was, but he wasn’t fooled; his eyes narrowed even more and he tilted his head to the side, obviously suspicious.

“Is there something the matter, Hawke? You seem...tense.”

“Storms unnerve me,” she lied, worrying her lip between her teeth.

Another thunder rolled in the distance, making her body jerk. She could feel the fine hairs on her arms stand up, electricity playing in the air around her, calling to her like a lover crooking a beckoning finger.

“You, afraid of storms?” Fenris raised an eyebrow.  The first scent of rain falling in the distance blew with a gust of wind through the window and her eyes went wide. She had always had a natural, instinctive affinity to lightning; she used it with incredible ease, all her companions knew that, Maker knew they had seen her use it often enough. She snuck a look at Fenris. His question was logical, but she had no way to answer it, no way to explain how wild, how out of control storms usually made her. Not without making him even more apprehensive towards her magic.

 “Not exactly afraid,” she offered, rubbing her arms in an effort to control the wild prickling of her skin. “I am just...apprehensive of them. I won’t be able to concentrate on your lesson, Fenris, I am sorry.”

He gave her a long, evaluating look then shrugged and picked his things up, slipping on his spiked gauntlets and putting the book she had loaned him in a small burlap sack.

“I will take my leave of you, then,” he murmured, a small hint of annoyance in his voice.

Hawke heaved a huge sigh of relief once he’d left, waited for a few seconds, then grabbed a cloak and her staff and dashed to the door. Once she was out in the street, she looked to the direction of his mansion, making sure he was gone, before she looked up to the sky, an expression of delight and anticipation on her face.  As she dashed through the streets towards Darktown, she felt the first raindrops fall and smiled at the sky.

Anders was sure to be waiting for her.

* * *

Fenris followed her, incensed she had lied to him, and dismissed him so she could go see her mage lover. _Apprehensive with storms, indeed_ , he seethed as she nearly danced in the streets, raising her hands to catch the raindrops. That smile on her face, that enjoyment; was it for the rain or for the fact she would soon see the abomination? Fenris felt himself start to glow, enraged by a sudden wave of possessiveness and jealousy.

He suddenly ducked and hid behind some crates, as he made out the abomination, waiting for her near the Lowtown entrance to the tunnels of the Undercity, smiling.

“Anders!” she cried out, joyous. “It’s raining!”

“I know, darling,” the mage smiled indulgently at her. “Somehow I knew I would find you here.”

She smiled up to the sky again, then twirled and raised her hands to the sky as the rain started pelting down. “It’s glorious!” she laughed, and Anders pulled up the hood of his cloak then inclined his head to her.

“Shall we?”

Fenris couldn’t help but follow, certain they would go back to her estate, or to his hovel in Darktown. Instead, they made for the City Gates, and took the winding road to the Wounded Coast.

Puzzled now, Fenris followed them at a safe distance. He lowered the hood of his cloak and let rain trickle down his face, smiling up to the sky despite his annoyance and anger.

He chuckled to himself then ran a hand through his hair that had been plastered to his skull by the heavy rain. He loved the rain, he adored storms. Danarius had been mortally afraid of them and for him storms meant freedom, even for a few hours, while his master secluded himself in his bedroom and cowered under the covers like a frightened mouse.

Danarius had not wanted anyone witnessing his irrational fear, and that had left Fenris free to roam; he’d come to love the violence and ferocity of raging storms, the boom and crash of thunder. For as long as the storms lasted, he could almost feel a normal man; the cold rain eased his markings, and the electricity in the air made them give out an almost soothing, pleasing hum.

When she had said that storms unnerved her, for a moment he had detested her, believing it to be a clear sign of her similarity to Danarius; he was a mage and so was she, and they both feared storms. But then he had caught a hint of anticipation in her eyes, along with a healthy amount of anxiety, and the combination was bizarre enough to puzzle him.  He dismissed the thought; Hawke was nothing like his old master, in fact she was so far removed from him, that Fenris sometimes had difficulty remembering she was a mage.

So, if she really wasn’t afraid of storms, what had been wrong? Why had she dismissed him? A romantic tryst with Anders seemed more improbable the further into the Wounded Coast they travelled; the two mages seemed close, but not romantically involved. Plus, the middle of the wilderness while it was raining cats and dogs didn't seem the perfect place for a romantic escapade.

His curiosity was sparked. What were the two mages doing here amidst what was shaping to be one of the most ferocious storms of the year? Why was Hawke laughing like a crazy person whenever thunder rolled and lightning flashed? Why was Anders with her?

 

* * *

 

Hawke looked to the sky above, her face pelted with heavy rain, and shouted to Anders to be heard over the approaching crash of thunder. Lightning scorched the sky, embossing the bright, spidery pattern on her retinas.

“I think this is fine!” she stopped in the middle of a clearing and Anders motioned to her, then stepped away, signalling to her to begin her casting.

Drawing power from deep inside herself, Hawke let the portal to the instinctive connection she had to lightning wide open; her hair blew out, and sparks flew in her eyes. Sighing with bliss, she let herself free, let herself become one with the rampant storm, let the wildness and the power of the tempest raging around her rage inside her too.

She never felt as free, as vibrantly powerful and alive as she did when the storms took her.

She cast her first spell, a minor electricity cantrip, and watched in awe as power flew from her fingers, and disappeared in the darkening sky above her. Thunder crashed, and a lightning bolt answered, hitting the tree a few hundred feet away and turning it to a blackened, charred piece of charcoal.

“Rein it in,” Anders shouted to be heard above the din of the rain and the wind whipping around them. “Control it before you kill us both! Like I showed you last time, Hawke! Let the power out in short bursts, don’t let it spike like that!”

She nodded then concentrated again. Having let the portal open, the power let loose, it was now all the more difficult to leash it; but she had to. She had to learn how to control herself. She could still remember how she had once nearly burned down the entire forest around the cottage her family had once found refuge in, she remembered how she had nearly killed her brother Carver when he had made the mistake of walking up to her in a storm. She was a danger to herself and to those around her.

And if Fenris ever found out how out of control, how volatile she was during thunderstorms, he’d probably not only recoil from her in disgust, but he might also drive a fist through her chest.

She struggled with herself, against the need to break free, to fly into the rainstorm, to become one with lightning and thunder. She breathed slowly, calmly, like Anders had instructed her, and concentrated on visualising her power, on turning it into something more manageable. Anders had told her to imagine her power like a faucet; she could turn it on and off, have it running with less or more force. But it was incredibly hard to do so.

Anders used one of his spells on her, draining some of her power away just when it was beginning to get too much, and the hairs on her arms were standing out like the quills of a porcupine.  She looked at him gratefully, then concentrated again on controlling the mad urge to start releasing thunderbolts from her fingers until she turned the sand on the Wounded Coast into glass.

After what seemed like hours of trying, she finally managed some control, just as the storm was lulling down. Both her and Anders were drenched to the bone, and chilled to it as well. The trees in the perimeter of the clearing were all charred and burned and her fingers were tingling. One of her bolts –thankfully the smaller ones- had gotten out of hand and had nearly hit Anders. Another one had fizzled as she was casting it-she had lost her concentration and the spell had gone wrong, the bolt of lightning breaking down into a magnitude of small, harmless little fizzling sparks that flew everywhere.  A third one had broken into small bolts that had spread over their head like fireworks. She had thought she heard a pained yelp from behind the rocks on her left, but it must have been the wind.

Anders approached her, rubbing his arms to get rid of the remaining static electricity that was making him twitch as small sparks flew from his fingers when he tried to straighten out the feathers on his coat.

“I will head back to town,” he smiled to her. “You made good progress today, Hawke,” he smiled at her. “Want me to walk you back?”

She looked at the dark clouds rolling across the sky. “Nah, go ahead,” she told him, looking at the sky wistfully. “When the weather is like this, nothing can harm me.”

Anders nodded. “Yes, indeed. But do be careful, darling. Don’t overdo it. I think it might rain again in a few minutes.” He looked to the rocks. “And I did think I heard a voice from behind there,” he said. “Make sure you don’t run into any raiders or anything,” the smile on his face widened. “They smell horrid when barbequed.”

She smiled as well, kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for helping her and agreeing to train her. After swearing him to secrecy once more –heavens prevent that Varric would learn she was a natural born enchantress when it came to lightning- she watched him head back to town.

Then curiosity got the better of her; what was it that they both had heard from behind that rock? She carefully rounded the huge boulder, holding her staff in front of her and saw...

....FENRIS?

 

* * *

 

 Fenris woke up to pain, radiating from where the small bolt of lightning had hit him; he groaned at the stinging ache and tried to push up on his elbows. A cool hand on his face and another pushing back on his chest kept him down, while at the same time, a frantic, concerned voice begged him to open his eyes.

“Fenris! Oh, Maker! What have I done? Fenris, wake up! Please!”

He cracked one eye open, to see Hawke, wet to the bone, her hair plastered to her face, tracks of moisture trailing down her face; was it the rain, or was she crying? Damned mage. She had zapped him. Another wave of stinging pain hit him and he moaned despite himself.

“Where does it hurt, Fenris? Talk to me!”

He voice was pleading, desperate. She was running those clever, talented hands of hers all over his body, trying to find his injury; belatedly the smell of charred flesh came to his nose and he realised it was coming off him. He once again tried to rise, turn, do anything to alleviate his pain. He only managed to cause himself more pain as his wound rubbed against the hard ground, and he flopped helplessly back down.

As in a fog, he realised that Hawke was trying to roll him over, finally grasping that his wound was somewhere on the back of him, and he struggled to help her, but his body was still not responding like he wanted it. He groaned again, then sighed in relief when their combined efforts managed to roll him to his stomach; the smell of burnt skin and charred leather assaulted his nose even more, making him want to gag.

A small sound like a sob reached his ears and he tried hard to clear the dizziness in his head to concentrate on it. He cracked one eye open again, and turned his head to look at her.

One hand clasped over her mouth, Hawke was...laughing.

“Oh, Fenris!” she giggled. “On your ass? I’m so sorry!”

And then she clasped her stomach and laughed until this time he was certain those _were_ tears running down her face.

 

* * *

 

“No.” He wiggled out of her reach, incensed at the way she had laughed at him, the damned mage, and the injury she had inflicted. “Leave me be. You have done enough.”

She reached for him again. “Come now, Fenris. I need to heal this,” she cajoled, her eyes downcast. She had apologised profusely after she had gotten over her laughter fit, but he had been murderously furious to be mocked like this.

“So you can take more amusement at my expense?” he groaned as he tried to avoid her hands. “No. I will not have it.”

She clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and rolled her eyes. “I have apologised. Do I need to grovel too?”

“Apparently.”

“I’m so sorry, then,” she huffed. “I am crushed your fanny got zapped while you were snooping around.”

Fenris raised his head and looked at her, blinked twice then pursed his lips to stop the smile that wanted to spread.

“Fanny, Hawke? Not funny.”

“Yes. Fanny. Or tushy,” she winked at him and then laid her hand on the buttock that wasn’t singed. “It’s a cute tushy. Let me fix it.”

“Perish the thought that my...’cute tushy’ should be left scarred, then, Hawke,” the smile broke free. Damned mage. He should have been raging mad at her. Somehow her smile always managed to disarm him. “No fondling.”

She choked a bit on a laugh then, and carefully tried to loosen his britches, slipping her fingers underneath him.

Fenris’ whole frame jerked, and he gasped on a sudden rush of want. “What are you doing?”

Her fingers stilled on the knot of his britches. “How am I supposed to heal you if I don’t...”

“There is a sizable hole, I gather. Heal through that.”

She sulked, her luscious lips turning downwards into an adorable pout.

“Spoilsport,” she murmured.

 

* * *

 

 

 Fenris looked over his shoulder, trying to see his injury; smooth skin, a lyrium vine crossing it, looked back at him through a gaping hole in his leathers. He ran his fingers over his skin, relieved he could feel no scars and no pain.

He raised his head to look at her, watching his fingers play over his skin with a slightly dreamy look softening her eyes; he almost smiled at that, before his embarrassment got the better of him and he let his hand drop with a small blush tingeing his high cheekbones pink.

A distant clash of thunder boomed in the distance and made them both jump a bit and lose eye contact. She looked to the still dark sky with an expression bordering on panic.

“Hawke?” he gently probed. “Do you care to explain why you are so skittish around storms?”

She rubbed her arms and looked down then jolted again when another thunder sounded, this time closer. Her eyes widened in fear.

“You will...” she gulped, “you will hate me.”

He took a step closer, trying to reassure her, but she tensed even more, and her eyes widened impossibly on her pale face.

“I shall not. Tell me.”

“I have a natural affinity to electricity,” her voice was barely audible over the wind that started picking up, plastering her wet clothes to her body, and making her hair fly wildly around her face. “Ever since my magic manifested itself, I have gone a little wild during storms. I cannot control myself. I become...” she raised her eyes at him, fear radiating from every pore, “...I become one with the storm; there is no other way to explain it.”

He nodded once, solemnly, and tried to understand why this scared her so much, why she had never told him. He looked to the sky, just as the first drops started falling, the wind picking up even more.

“Anders was teaching you then?”

“Yes,” she bit her lip and took a few steps back. “He says what I am is a natural enchantress, and those are rare, apparently, and can become quite powerful. He did some research, and he has been helping me control my power.” She looked up to the darkening sky again. “Fenris, it is not safe for you here, not while...I might hurt you. I still cannot totally control myself.”

A bolt of lightning struck in the distance and she tensed, and then sighed as the electricity rushed through the ground, up her body, making her skin prickle. The call of the storm was hard to resist on normal circumstances; with him here, it would be impossible. She was even more attuned to it with him here, because nothing made her body tingle like he did. Combined with the storm, this was going to be...gloriously dangerous.

He took another step closer.

“Show me,” he just said, his eyes darkening at the way her body had started to sway like a leaf in the wind. “I love storms. They make me feel...free, alive. Show me.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she bit her lip. The rain was pelting down now, plastering their hair to the scalps and their clothes to their skin. Fenris’ eyes roamed all over her, noting how her pert nipples pebbled through the fabric of her robes.

“It is too risky,” she barely breathed the words. “Maker, Fenris, don’t you know? Don’t you understand? Can’t you tell how you affect me? Please go. You will hate me, and I won’t be able to live with more hate, not from you.”

Fenris’ eyes jerked up to her face and his eyebrows scrounged up at the pleading, heartbroken look on her face. Then her words registered and nearly took his breath away.

“I do not hate you, Hawke,” he softly said. One hand rose on its own to cradle her face. Tenderness leapt into his heart from some hidden well of buried emotion, somewhere deep inside him, rocking his world with its force. A little gasp escaped him; then he just accepted it, and decided to go along with it. Emotions like that were all but extinct from his hate embittered heart; only she could dredge them up. He was not going to fight them anymore.

“Danarius hates storms. He fears them like a quaking, terrified little mouse. It is poetic justice, of a sort,” a corner of his mouth went up a notch in a sarcastic smile. “The woman that I...I follow, commands the power that strikes fear into the heart of that monster.”

She looked deep into his eyes and then her face fell some more. The sadness that crept into her eyes was like a punch to his solar plexus; her gaze was brimming with grief and disappointment.

“You...” she swallowed hard. “I have already promised I will help you against him. It is an added bonus that the woman you...follow...is powerful enough to defeat him, I know. You...  you don’t have to pretend.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Pretend?”

“That you like me. I know better.”

He took one step back and regarded her with surprise and shock. She honestly thought he hated her? She truly believed that he despised her? What had ever given her that idea?

And then the answer hit him and he nearly staggered. He had given her that idea, he himself- no one else. His constant berating of magic and mages, his callous treatment of her, walking out on her after their glorious night together, his distance and aloofness ever since.

Just then, just as he was about to set her straight, a lightning bolt crashed nearby, and Hawke tensed, her body bowed. Her hair flew out around her, while otherworldly power sparked around her. Her whole body shook and lightning engulfed her, electricity buzzed around her, crackling along her limbs and in her eyes.

“This is what I am,” her voice, eerily quiet but vibrating with power sent shivers down his spine. “This is what I can do.” Lightning flew from her fingers, up into the sky, her whole body fluid as water, a conduit for the might of the storm. His breath caught on a sudden, overwhelming surge of want. She was magnificent; powerful, vibrant, dangerous and alluring like a goddesses of old.

His control broke like a dam. With a growl, he pounced on her like a predator, embracing her lithe little body and moulding it to his wiry frame; lightning cracked along his markings making him hiss with both pain and incredible pleasure. Every silvery line on his body suddenly came alive, sang under her touch, glowing like a beacon. Power surged through him, back into her, amplified, then shot into his body again.

When he bent his head to her and kissed her, the pleasure and the give and take of power was like an electrical shock, and left him tingling – and as hard as a rock. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue twined with his, her hand came up to tangle in his hair and still the current of want and power passed back and forth between them. He whispered her name in her mouth, or maybe it was her that whispered his, he didn't know anymore. All he knew was that she tasted like rain and raw power, that her body was custom made to mesh with his. Angles and planes, curves and soft mounds; they all fit.

She drew back, struggling for breath, but he refused to let her; with rough, clawed fingers he pulled her back, then clenched and pulled, ripping her robes clear in half, leaving her upper torso bare to his touch and roving eyes. Another thunder crashed and she jerked in his grasp, lightning once more coursing through her, then escaping her along with a small whimper. Fenris felt it caress against his skin; it should have been painful, it should have shocked him, but it did neither. Instead, it was as if a million fingers were thrumming his nerve endings, as if lightning was just another one of her caresses. He moaned, then took her mouth again, kissing her with single-minded absorption, as if he couldn’t draw breath unless it was stolen from her lungs.

He only stopped when he realised his gauntlets were leaving bloody scratches on her delicate skin and swore luridly before tackling the clasps with his teeth, pulling them off one at a time, not wanting to completely let go of her for one second. His fingers trembled with the force of his want when he next slipped them into her hair, and she purred like a contented kitten, throwing her head back to give him access to her neck. Another bolt of lightning crashed with a deafening boom somewhere in the cliffs near them, and they both hissed and their bodies bowed; it was as if the lightning was whipping them, bolts of energy passing between them, urging them to hurry.

Fenris growled; the sensations were unlike anything he had ever felt. Magic usually had an adverse effect on his lyrium brands- it usually hurt, or made him feel like he was suffocating under a mass of cold, murky water, pressing him down. Her magic, though...oh, her magic was glorious. It soothed, excited, cajoled, called to him like a lover crooking a finger with a wicked smile. He would deny that any kind of magic caused him pleasure until he was blue in the face under normal circumstances- but not here, not now, not with her. He couldn’t deny the needy sounds that were coming out of his mouth while he trembled in her arms anyway, he had no way to hide the desperate, powerful reaction of his own body. His erection was like a rod of steel in his leather britches.

A sudden thought crossed his mind, dampening his excitement...steel...rod. And lightning. He pulled back, and mumbled something she couldn’t hear.

“Fenris?”

“I just realised...Hawke, you’ve already zapped my posterior. You’d better not be thinking of zapping me elsewhere, as well.”

She gave him a slightly puzzled look, then her eyes sparkled with mirth. “I don’t know Fenris...” she smirked then her face took on the most sultry, seductive look he had ever seen on her pretty face, her eyes hooding and her pink tongue coming out to playfully lick a plump lip . “You might actually enjoy that.”

He arched an eyebrow, and she smiled playfully before slipping to her knees in front of him. The storm picked up again just as she was unlacing the opening at the front, and she moaned as thunder once again rolled and boomed. Fenris threw his head back; a tiny hand snuck into his smalls to retrieve a shaft that was painfully hard, leaking and glistening with arousal. She smiled up to him, that small hand wrapping around his length, and waited for lightning to crash before wrapping her lips around it.

Fenris jerked hard, the combined feeling of her hot, moist mouth and the tiny sting of electricity pushing him to the edge almost immediately. He grabbed a fistful of her hair in each hand and forced her to take him clear to the back of her throat, his body jolting, small needy whimpers tumbling from his mouth against his will. Rain pelted down on his face, and the wind whipped around them, but he didn't care; nothing could cool the fire burning through him, coursing along his veins as that velvety soft mouth slid up and down his length.

He made the mistake of looking down to see her hot little mouth around his shaft, and nearly lost it on the spot. Maker, she looked so wanton, so completely sensual as she pleasured him. Her tongue, lithe and talented, was a torment; the sweet suction of her mouth was torture. He moaned, his legs barely keeping him up, wishing desperately that there was a wall, a tree, _something damn it_ , he could support himself against as she wrecked havoc with his senses, as twin arcs of pain and pleasure shot through him at the electrified touch of her mouth.

His fists tightened around her hair, against his will, and she responded by increasing the tempo, letting him slide in and out of her mouth as his body writhed in pleasure. One hand pumped him along with her mouth, the other came up to caress the tightened globes underneath, and Fenris’ abominable control snapped. He growled, then tried to pull her away as his release spiralled down his spine; she wouldn’t have it, and with a hoarse cry he started coming, her name and breathless pleas tumbling out along with his sawing breath.

Hawke purred, the feeling of his seed splashing against her tongue both a shock and a heady aphrodisiac. Hunger, gripping and primordial, filled her as she swallowed his essence, gagging just a little, but not wanting it to stop. Maker, she never wanted it to stop. She wanted to consume all of him, take all of him inside her, connect to him in the most basic, primal way. She keened with the distress of her hunger, feeling an emptiness that was almost torture in her most secret of places, the one that was made to be filled by him, that could only be filled with him.

She didn't know what she whispered to him, she could hardly connect her brain and mouth enough to form sentences. It must have been a plea, a dirty, wanton entreaty for him to ease her hunger; she might have ordered him to fuck her, she might have begged for his cock. She might have whispered that she loved him; she could not remember afterwards. She was certain the look in her eyes said much more than her words, anyway, because the minute he opened his eyes, shuddering in the aftermath of his explosive orgasm, the minute those green eyes made contact with hers, Fenris just moaned, swore heavily, then snarled. It was a deep, primal, animalistic sound, vibrating his chest. She should have been afraid; his face was twisted and his eyes promised violence. It was an exhilarating terror, freezing her but at the same time filling her with an anticipation so acute she was almost in pain. The deeply feminine side of her, the one that didn't obey to conventions and social rules, purred and submitted in a basic, instinctive manner to his out of control, primitive masculinity. The female animal inside her recognised her mate; the male animal inside him just wanted her- no restrictions, nothing held back, no hesitation. A male animal, intent on mating. Civilised manners, social conventions and status, past, present – they all faded. Only heavy desire remained, making the air between them sparkle.

 The storm still raged around them. It raged inside them too, with greater force, with a ferocity that would have shamed the thunderstorm. Rain pelted down and the ground was soggy underneath them as he lowered them both to the ground, without any regard for comfort or the cold. Niceties didn't matter, only this, only the thrilling current of desire between them, strong enough to mock the lightning, strong enough to make her connection to the storm fade in favour of even more electrifying power. There was no time for foreplay either, and no need. They were both so hot, so ready for each other, so attuned, that soft touches and caresses weren’t a necessity.

He growled; she answered with a deep, needy moan. Her robes were pushed up to pool around her waist, and he took care of her smallclothes by the simple means of tearing them apart. A pair of tight leather leggings were only lowered as far as was necessary.

“Spread your legs,” he panted, already kneeing her thighs apart, and all she could gasp was “Yes.” Her hands grasped on to the corded forearms of the elf above her as he angled his hips just so and surged inside her with a thrust that was pure, unadulterated possession. “Yes,” she keened, “Yes,” he hissed, and holding himself exquisitely still in her gripping sheath for just a second, he leaned in to kiss her.

The storm became just a little drizzle in comparison to the one that took them as he started moving, making her body slide in the mud underneath them, groaning like a man possessed.  She wrapped her legs around his slim hips, her flesh quivering under his pounding force. He groaned unintelligibly and slid his arms beneath her to lift her up even more, as if he could grind their bodies so tightly together that they would mesh forever. Hard, driving strokes filled her over and over again. He put all the strength in his muscled back and his hips behind every thrust, then slid his hands beneath her and grasped onto her shoulders to hold her more closely, to find the leverage he needed in order to pound inside her so strongly that he thought he would be able to crawl inside her forever.

Hawke whimpered. Every stroke reached incredibly deep inside her, rasped against nerve endings that were already screaming in pleasure and arousal. Every time that wonderfully thick shaft of his withdrew and then surged back inside her she thought she would split in two, fly apart, self combust until nothing but flame remained of her. The border between pleasure and pain widened as each sensation built upon itself until she tore her mouth from Fenris’, her head falling back against the ground as her scream of release ripped from her soul.

Her orgasm ruptured inside her womb, raced through her body, tightening every straining muscle to the breaking point as he shuddered above her, his groans and hoarse male cries joining her scream as he found his own release. She fought for breath, fought for sanity, as another wave hit her, this time strong enough to splinter her bones and fry her brain; Fenris whimpered above her, clutching her desperately, his body convulsing. “Hawke,” he whispered, her name a plea for mercy as her sheath tightened again, bringing on another desperate spurt from him, until he felt his very soul would start emptying inside her instead of his semen. There couldn’t be anything else left, but then lightning crashed and she arched, and incredibly he came again.

 Their breath wheezed, their bodies shook. Fenris groaned, his whole body aching and shuddering in the aftermath of a destructive orgasm. Pain drizzled down, the wind started trying to cool their overheated bodies. He rose on one elbow to look at her; she raised her eyes to him and moaned.

He should have been empty by now. He should be totally spent; he had come three times, two in close succession. He shouldn’t be able to get hard again, and this surge of desire at the way she looked - flushed and totally debauched by pleasure -shouldn’t be happening. And it definitely shouldn’t be hardening him inside her again.

Her eyes shot wide, and she looked at him with an incredulous look. Fenris just gave her a smug, totally male little smile.

She rocked against him, instinctively chasing the explosive, destructive pleasure she’d just received, and he grunted softly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Be still, Hawke,” he commanded her, a rough edge to his velvety voice. “Let me catch my brea...Damn it, woman!”

She had just rolled her hips again, enjoying the sight of Fenris ravaged with pleasure a bit too much to stop. She arched up to rub the hard little points of her nipples against his chest and to lick along the lyrium lines decorating his corded neck. He tasted of sweat, salty and musky, rainwater and lyrium.

Muttering curses, Fenris snapped once more, before Hawke knew what hit her, she’d been turned on her hands and knees in the mud, and Fenris was already positioning his rock hard erection at her opening. She only had time to utter one plea to the Maker to have mercy on her when she died, because her heart was not going to survive this; her brain would fry and her body would dissolve.

Panting, trembling, screaming his name, she moved back to impale herself just as he was thrusting inside her; Fenris moaned, then fisted her hair and used it to roughly make her move, taking him in, undulating her rounded behind against his groin. She snuck a look behind her and nearly came at the spot; Fenris was the most erotic sight she had ever seen in her life. His muscles bulged as he fought for control, his moss green eyes blazing down at her, his white hair –wet and dishevelled- falling forward around his face, creating the impression of a savage, lusty male animal.

Time screeched to a stop. Nothing mattered, nothing but the man behind her, driving his hard length into her with brutal, merciless strokes. She clutched fistfuls of the muddy, soggy ground underneath her, and gave in to the violence of his lovemaking.  She felt brilliantly alive, her body incandescent with the primal joy of giving him its all. The rain had started dying down, but still the lure of the storm lingered, the electric touch of lightning rivalled by the sparks of pleasure igniting along her nerve endings; like a current, like the feel of lightning leaving her fingers, pleasure streamed down her spine, down to where he was thrusting hard inside her. She was so wet, so incredibly aroused. She raised her ass higher for him to take her even more completely, moaned, pleaded, shrieked his name. Fenris answered by increasing the strength and tempo of his furious pounding, but not before he stilled for just one second, to bend down and tenderly kiss the side of her neck, her shoulder blade, and then her run his hand down her spine.

Ecstasy like this could not exist; it should be illegal, it should be outlawed. She felt that, this time, when she reached the peak he was steadily pushing her towards, her body would break apart.  Fire –not blood – was cursing through her veins. Fire and electricity, burning her, changing her, threatening to shatter her brain. He growled her name and she lost what little of her breath had remained-again. Oh, Maker, the sound of her name on his lips, the sound of her name being uttered in that honey and caramel voice, hoarse and guttural from pleasure and desire- it was devastating.

Her back bowed to the point of breaking and then she died a little as incredible bliss rushed from her womb to every cell on her body; she tightened around him and vaguely heard his howl as he also came before she flew apart. Absentmindedly she realised she was crying, sobbing from the pleasure; her body exploded, dissolved, broke into splinters of light and joy. Fenris slumped on her back, his whole body convulsing, trembling, quaking. His moaning voice fired her up once more and she came again – the bliss was almost pain.

She thought she whispered she loved him before her mind went blank.

 

* * *

 

Rain was still pelting down when, minutes or hours later, they both came to, still entwined, still intimately joined. He sighed and looked her over, noting how her eyes avoided his, how she had flushed a warm pink. Her skin was chilled, her hair was matted with mud and sweat and rainwater, plastered to her head; she was absolutely, fucking gorgeous. Thunder rolled in the distance, and he took a worried look to the sky. The storm seemed to have lulled for now, but it would probably pick up again soon.

 He helped her to her feet, blushing himself at how out of control he had been, and how he had taken her on the cold, wet ground, rutting like an animal. She turned her back on him as she tried to put her clothes to rights, but the mud and the water made it almost impossible.

 “Say something,” her voice was small and scared.

 “Hawke,” he had to stop to swallow hard. “I am sor...”

 “Just don’t say you’re sorry,” she interrupted. “I’m not. It was glorious.”

 A small smile curved his lip upwards. Yes. It was glorious. And although he had embarrassed himself, losing his self-control like this, taking her with no finesse, no consideration to her comfort, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

 “Indeed,” he sighed, his gravelly voice velvety soft. “It was.”

 Her head whipped up and she looked at him with wide, surprised eyes, as if she had never expected him to agree. A small smile started playing around her mouth as she noticed the one on his face, and the smug, well-pleased look of male pride in his eyes. She pursed her lips.

 “It’s storm season, you know,” she softly said, and felt her breath catch in hope and happiness as he tilted his head to the side and regarded her playfully; he didn't bolt, nor did he snap and step away.

 “Oh, is it, now?” he raised his head to the sky. “Which means what precisely? A storm every few days?”

 “Sometimes twice a day.”

 A predatory smile lit up Fenris’ face before he took hold of her hand and pulled her back into his arms.

 “I can do that,” he said, his voice husky, and then he kissed her.

 

 

 

The end.

 

 

 


End file.
